


I'm the Smart One

by Kittylin15



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, Young Mycroft Holmes/Young Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittylin15/pseuds/Kittylin15
Summary: Mycroft had just gotten his career going the way he wanted it when his mother dumped his dysfunctional teenage brother on him. For the next couple months Sherlock was going to be his responsibility. This wasn't going to be as hard as he was making it out to be. It was just taking care of his little brother.  When drugs and crime solving is involved, it gets a lot more complicated.





	1. Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fanfiction. My main love pairing is Mycroft/Greg but this story is mostly about Sherlock and Mycroft's sibling rivalry and how they work through it. John isn't going to be in this story until a little later. This is all supposed to take place when they are younger. About 15 years before the show is even supposed to start.
> 
> I started writing this months ago and thought for sure that I would have the whole thing finished by the time the new season aired. Of course that didn't happen. I can at least get the first chapter up.

 

**o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Mycroft was lost in thought about what he was required to do for work in the next few months.

His job was very demanding. When he had accepted being recruited into MI6 a couple years ago in college Mycroft didn't know what he had been expecting. Filling out paperwork had not been one of them. Lately, they had been expecting him to do more fieldwork. The things he had done and seen lately had been playing havoc on his mind.

Anthea arrived at the office half an hour early but wasn't surprised to see that her boss was already there. Mycroft was a workaholic in every sense of the definition. She suspected he had no life outside of the borough. Anthea supposed that she was the closest thing Mycroft had to a friend.

She could tell that her boss was troubled. Anthea had started the program less than a year after he had but Mycroft had been moving through the ranks a lot faster than Anthea had. It was a lot of pressure on someone so young. They were practically the same age but Mycroft seemed years older somehow.

"Better stop scowling, you'll get premature wrinkles." Anthea teased to announce her presence as she took off her coat.

"You know that I don't care about things like that," Mycroft replied absently. Not really paying attention because he was too caught up in the report he was reading.

"But you would if there's a wrinkle in your suit," Anthea said as she sat at her desk. After being recruited by MI6, Anthea never thought she would end up as an assistant, performing simple office duties. Though she had a license to kill which was something. After checking the message machine she wrote down any relevant information. "Your mother called again."

"Tell her I'm busy." Mycroft sighed as he tried to get back to work. Worrying about what he had to do in the months to come wouldn't change anything.

There was a long moment of silence with only the sound of pages being turned to break it.

Anthea tapped her fingers on the polished wood of her desk because she had nothing to keep herself busy with. When she was bored she tended to become chatty. "How many people your age do you think have their own office with an assistant?" She contemplated out loud.

"Not very many." Mycroft knew that he had accomplished a lot in his 24 years of life.

"I don't know how I ended up here." Anthea gestured to the office.

"Do you not like working for me?" Mycroft said as he looked over the top of his report at her.

"You're a brilliant boss, and I wouldn't mind if I was one of the field agents you were gathering intelligence for." Anthea sighed dejectedly.

"I see, so you're unhappy with your position," Mycroft finally put down the report to look at her. Understanding that this was more than simple chit-chat. "You are way more than a simple assistant."

When they had been in the graduate training program together, Anthea had impressed him the most out of his peers. His instructors tended to look down on her because of her beauty but Mycroft could see that there was a brilliant brain behind her attractive features.

Once Mycroft had graduated from College and finished the program, he had immediately been offered a junior intelligence position. After working under a senior officer for some time his talents had been noticed and he had been promoted. In just two years he had been offered his own office.

When Mycroft had been offered the chance to pick his own assistant, Anthea had been the first one to pop into his mind. Mycroft, of course, assumed that she was a field agent already and would be unavailable. It was surprising to him to see that Anthea was still stuck at the academy.

Mycroft wasn't a field agent because he had no desire to run around. He also didn't pass the physical training required for the job. His brain would have been wasted as a field agent anyway. Whenever he was required to run an errand he sent Anthea in his place. "I have you do my leg work for me."

"So I'm your legs." Anthea gave her boss a disbelieving look.

"Yes." Mycroft hid his smile behind a report.

Anthea was going to ask him to clarify what he meant when the phone rang. "Mr. Holmes office what may I do for you?" She paused to wait for the other person on the line to start talking.

" _Put my boy Mycroft on the phone, tell him his mummy wants to talk to him_." The voice cooed into the receiver.

It was hard for Anthea not to burst out giggling at the term, mummy, being used to describe one of her cold boss's parents. "One moment," She covered the microphone with her hand. Clearing her throat to gain her bosses attention. "Mycroft, it's your mummy on the phone for you."

A deep blush spread across Mycroft's cheeks. He wasn't sure why his mother refused to be referred to anything less than mummy. Usually, the parent let the child chose which form of mother they wished to use, but theirs enforced the ever embarrassing mummy. He really wasn't in the mood to be nagged at by his mother like a child right now. It was the only time Mycroft really ever felt his age. "Just tell her I'm busy," Mycroft whispered so that the microphone on the phone wouldn't pick up his voice.

It was easy for Anthea to forget that Mr. Holmes was only in his early twenties until moments like this. Because of the way he carried himself you would think Mycroft was in his thirties instead of only being twenty-four.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Holmes, your son is in a meeting right now. Would you like to leave a message for him?" Anthea nodded along as her superior's mother talked about her sudden business trip. She wanted Mycroft to take care of something while she was away. "Bring him over whenever it's convenient for you," Anthea hung up and looked at her boss. "Are you sure you don't want to hear the message your mother left right now," Anthea asked already knowing the answer.

"Whatever she has to say can wait until Monday." Mycroft brushed off the question.

Anthea smirked at the sudden surprise that would be waiting for her boss the next morning.

o0o

Mycroft had only one day a week that he got the whole day off to have some down time. Which was Sunday because. Not bothering to change out of his pajamas for once, he headed to the kitchen for some tea. Filling the kettle with some water, Mycroft placed it on the stove to boil. The kettle whistled breaking him from his deep train of thought. He was always thinking of something or other.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, which was strange since Mycroft wasn't expecting anyone. Making sure that his robe was tied shut so that he was at least semi-decent for accepting company. The bell rang again, more insistent this time. Opening the door, Mycroft was surprised to see his own mother on the other side.

What truly shocked Mycroft though was the large luggage the women had with her. Was his mother planning on staying for an extended amount of time? He had heard nothing of a planned visit. Maybe that was what her phone call was about the other day.

"Mummy, what are you doing here?" Mycroft asked inquiringly.

"I explained everything to that assistant of yours," Mrs. Holmes said as she pushed her way into the house. Rolling the large luggage in behind her. "I have a business trip I must take, so I need you to take care of Sherlock."

"What?!" Mycroft gasped with complete shock. He hadn't even seen his little brother for a year. To suddenly have the responsibility to take care of him forced upon him was a shock. "I have work to worry about."

"Don't worry, that lovely assistant of yours assured me that she cleared the next week of your schedule so that you both have time to settle in together." Mrs. Holmes brushed off his worries.

"What about Sherlock's schooling?" Since his brother was only 17, Mycroft was certain that he had classes he must be attending. It was nearing the end of October so the school term had already well begun.

"I had him transferred to a school in London for a semester," Mrs. Holmes sighed with exasperation. "Truthfully it was the only one that would take him. That boy has already been kicked out of both good schools in the town where the family home is."

"What! Kicked out?" Mycroft blinked surprised. Had he really fallen so far out of the loop with his family? How could he have missed this development? Mycroft knew that Sherlock had some behavioral issues but was it really that bad to be kicked out of school. He knew his brother was smart so there must be other issues than grades.

"I just can't handle that boy anymore," Mrs. Holmes shook her head. "Drinking and smoking, as well as the drugs on top of that."

"Drugs?!" Mycroft gasped with shock. He was hoping she was just talking about weed.

"Cocaine, my dear," His mother said plainly. "I'm hoping to live under the same roof as you for a while will change him for the better. You've always been such a law-abiding child." It was the only way she could think of to describe her elder son.

"Meaning Sherlock is not?" Mycroft held his head in his hands. It sounded like Sherlock had gotten worse since last Christmas. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I'll be gone for a few months so I want Sherlock to stay here with you." Mrs. Holmes exclaimed like it was something that was going to be happening whether he liked it or not.

"A few months!" Mycroft said aghast. "I thought this was only going to be for a short amount of time."

"I've been offered the chance to teach Mathematics for a semester at Stanford." Mrs, Holmes revealed.

"That isn't a business trip, that is a new job opportunity." Mycroft expected to have to take care of his brother for a week at the most. "Hasn't school already started?"

"One of the Professors has come down with something and I'm filling in for them. This is a great opportunity for me." Mrs. Homes answered.

"Can't father take care of him?" Mycroft asked anxiously looking for other options. Their father was a much quieter, more normal person than the rest of the family.

"He's coming with me of course." Mrs. Holmes answered.

"To do what?" Mycroft asked surprised.

"Even adults need vacations sometimes." Mrs. Holmes answered flippantly.

"Are you teaching a class or going on a cruise?" Mycroft asked suspiciously. Were his parents just dumping his little brother off on him so that they could be alone?

"We will be going to California. It is a very lovely state that has many sights to be seen," Mrs. Holmes replied. "Our flight is leaving later this day so I don't have time to make any other arrangements."

"I guess if there aren't any other options." Mycroft agreed reluctantly. It sounded more like they were going on a tropical vacation than on a business trip.

"Sherlock, get in here!" Mrs. Holmes called out the door.

The old Bentley was parked just outside on the drive. The back passenger door opened and out stepped what looked like a tall man with black curly hair. It was only when the man turned around that Mycroft could see that it was actually his little brother Sherlock.

Mycroft was surprised by how much Sherlock had grown since the last time he had seen him. He no longer looked like the little child he once remembered. The cigarette hanging out of his mouth helped immensely.

Sherlock puffed on the filter one last time, before dropping it to the gravel drive. Crushing it under what looked like designer Italian boots. The only word that Mycroft could think to describe the way his brother walked, was a strut. His long black overcoat blew in the wind as he moved. He came to a stop on the landing of Mycroft's front steps.

"Is this really necessary, mother?" A surprisingly deep voice came out of such young lips.

"Mummy." Their mother continued to enforce which Sherlock rolled his eyes at. Mycroft had given up years ago of calling her by anything else except in his mind. "Yes, of course, dear. We've already talked about this. If you hadn't blown up the science lab, maybe we would have had other options."

Mycroft's eyebrows practically disappeared into his eyebrows when he picked out the words 'BLOWN UP THE SCIENCE LAB'.

Sherlock held himself like a grown up until their mother tried to pat his hair into submission. Then Sherlock hunched in on himself and scowled darkly like the sulky teenager he actually was. Hissing "Mother!" Just infuriating her more, since he refused to use her much-preferred mummy.

"You both need to get over this falling out you had," Mrs. Holmes tutted as she looked between them. "You used to be so close as children."

"Things change." Mycroft sighed dejectedly. When Mycroft had tried to keep in contact after he went away to university, their relationship had fallen apart. Sherlock never seemed to have forgiven him for leaving him alone with idiots.

"I have already confirmed that I will be teaching a semester at Stanford in America. This temporary situation will be happening whether you two like it or not," Mrs. Holmes looked intently between her two sons. "I suggest the two of you, take this time to work on your relationship."

"I will if he does," Mycroft replied glancing in his brother's direction, who stuck his tongue out in response. No matter how grown up Sherlock looked now, his brother was still a child at heart.

"Have fun together my sweeties," Mrs. Holmes kissed both her sons on the cheek. Quickly she strutted towards the door. Not even looking back, she shut the door behind her as she left them alone together.

Mycroft blinked, completely bowled over by what had just happened. They both just stood there awkwardly staring at each other.

Sherlock lit up a cigarette inside the front hall and blew out a perfect smoke ring.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. Stalking over he snatched the cancer stick out of his little brother's mouth. He received a dark glare for his troubles. "There will be no smoking under my roof," Deciding then and there, that he was going to get his brother back into shape. "Actually, give me the whole package. I'm confiscating it."

"What? Not happening," Sherlock scowled darkly. Placing his hand protectively over his right pocket.

Not giving any warning, Mycroft snapped his hand forward and opened the left pocket, reaching in and grabbing the packet. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for misdirection

"Bastard," Sherlock cursed.

"We both know that isn't true," Mycroft said as he held up the package of cigarettes up in victory. Their parents had been married five years before he was even conceived. "Follow me, I'll show you where you will be sleeping. Grab your bag." He walked up the grand staircase with his little brother behind him, stomping on each step to show his displeasure.

Mycroft opened the first door on the right that had been made up to receive a guest. It was also the furthest from his own.

Sherlock looked around the guest room unimpressed even though it had high-quality mahogany furniture and was a large size for a guest room. Mycroft thought his brother would have turned down his nose at what was on the other side of the door no matter what.

"I'll leave you to unpack and get settled in." Mycroft had to gather himself to get a game plan ready. He stomped down the stairs and into his office. Collapsing into his desk chair. Tugging open his right desk drawer he threw the cigarette package inside and then locked it. If his brother was anything like him he doubted it would stop Sherlock.

Mycroft was wondering what he had just gotten himself into. His younger brother was an unknown entity. They had hardly spoken in the past five years and what he had seen made him think this was going to be some of the most stressful months of his life. Mycroft was an adult now who was responsible for a number of subordinates. This was just taking care of one person.

This wasn't going to be as hard as he was making it out to be. It was just taking care of his little brother.

o0o

The ring of his phone woke him from a dream that he now couldn't remember what it was about. Looking at the clock, he realized it was passed 3 am. It wasn't unheard of for Mycroft to receive a work call this late at night. Reaching blindly for his phone. Prepared for a business call.

"Yes, what do you want now?" Mycroft answered even though it wasn't the most polite way. If they were going to be waking him up this late, Mycroft saw no reason why he should mind his manners.

"Is this Mycroft Holmes." An unfamiliar male voice asked.

"Speaking." Mycroft waited for the other person to get to the point.

"Mr. Holmes, This is Constable Williams, we've detained a boy who claims to be your younger brother."

"What?" Mycroft shot up in bed. He threw the covers back and walked quickly out of his bedroom over to the quest room. "That can't be, Sherlock should be in…" The bed was empty and the window was open.

"What did he do?" His brother had been in his care for less than a full day and already he had gotten himself in trouble.

"Well, he was caught buying an illegal substance." The constable did not sound impressed.

"Of course he did," Mycroft sighed. "I'm on my way."

.0.

Using his connections, Mycroft was able to clear the situation so that there was no paper trail left behind. They left the station together silently. Mycroft wanted to give a lecture but he wasn't sure that it would help at all. Instead, he just said, "Don't make a habit of this."

"You wiped my record," Sherlock stated confused. He hadn't realized his brother had that power till now.

"For your sake as well as mine," Mycroft said tiredly.

"Mummy would kill you?" Sherlock asked as they walked out of the police station.

"Mummy would kill me," Mycroft confirmed.

**...TBC**


	2. Tea or Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been finished earlier but I was trying to introduce Lestrade too early. Mycroft and Sherlock needed more time to interact together before Greg or John come in. This allowed me to get later chapters written. It was also getting really long. I split the chapter into three parts and it flows better now because I could concentrate on what was happening at that moment. This is going to be a long story so be patient for character introductions.
> 
> Also want to mention that this takes place in the 90's, so a lot of technology is just getting started. Don't be confused when I talk about cell phones or the internet like they are a new thing.

 

**o0o0o0o0oo0o**

Mycroft woke up at his usual time even though he didn't have to go to work anymore. It was a very strange feeling to not actually have to leave the house if he didn't want to. Though it was going to be far from a relaxing day.

It had not been a good sleep either. Too much had been running through his mind. He had fallen asleep from exhaustion after thinking about the conversation he was going to have to have with Sherlock. From what his mother said there was a lot of issues that needed to be attended to.

There was no point in continuing to lay in bed now that he was up though. The clock said that it was only 6 in the morning which was usually a good time to get up when you had to be out the door by 8. Mycroft climbed out of bed and put a robe over his pajamas.

.

Mycroft walked into his kitchen and opened the fridge. Finding it like always, empty. He basically used his kitchen to make tea. Mycroft usually just ate out all the time. Other than pre-packaged snacks and tea bags, there was nothing.

Now Mycroft was supposed to be feeding a teenager, his system wouldn't really work anymore. He would have to get Anthea to get someone to fetch some groceries for him. With a sigh, he closed the fridge again after grabbing the only content which was a small carton of milk.

Walking over to the stove he set the kettle to boil. He sat down at the dining room table and let his mind wonder as he waited.

Mycroft wasn't sure how to interact with his younger brother. They weren't children anymore. Sherlock wasn't going to follow him around looking up to his big brother with blind admiration. There was a rift between them and Mycroft wasn't sure how to fix it.

His brother had made it clear last Christmas that he didn't care for him sticking his nose in Sherlock's business. The problem was that his mother had made it his job at the current moment.

The kettle whistled, breaking his train of thought.

Mycroft stood up and poured the hot water over a tea infuser filled with his favorite Earl Grey. The water turned from clear to an orange hue, getting darker by the second. He removed the infuser when he found the tone to his liking. Carrying his cup and saucer back to the table.

He scanned the headlines of the newspaper for any interesting events as he waited for his tea to cool. Mentally noting anything that was relevant to his job as a civil servant. Before he even had a chance to take a sip there was the sound of movement upstairs.

He was surprised to hear footsteps coming downstairs at such an early hour. Most teenagers had to be dragged from bed around noon if they didn't have school. Mycroft was suspicious of this action. What was his brother doing up so early?

Sherlock appeared in a ratty t-shirt that had a hole in it, lose sweatpants and a blue silk robe that had seen better days. Instead of sitting across from him, the teen took a seat on an island stool.

It was awkward because they don't really know each other anymore. They're brothers but they have forgotten how to act as such. They're just sitting across from each other with everything to say but not knowing how to breach the space between them.

"Tea?" Mycroft offered as a peace offering.

"I'm more of a coffee drinker," Sherlock answered.

'Of course' Mycroft thought to himself bitterly. It seemed they were on the opposite end of the spectrum for most things. "I appear to be out."

"That's alright. I'll just go out and get some." Sherlock was up and out the door kitchen before Mycroft could even say anything to stop him. By the time he was out of his chair, he could hear the front door slam and see Sherlock fast retreating back out the window. The teen had just thrown his coat over his pajamas.

He sat back down in a huff. 'They were off to a great start' Mycroft thought to himself sarcastically as he massaged his temples.

...

Sherlock left Mycroft's house with the mind to explore the neighborhood. One good thing about being forced to live with his brother was the city of London. It had always been more interesting than the sleepy town he came from.

Of course, Mycroft had to be boring and buy a house in Hampstead. You might as well be in the country with the sprawling lawns and low crime rate. If he was going to live in London he would get a flat in the middle of the city with alleyways for miles for him to explore.

Sherlock decided the best thing for him to do was take the tube to more interesting parts of London. He started walking in the direction of Hampstead train station. He walked down Redington Rd, past many more mansions. He turned right when he got to West Heath Rd.

It wasn't long after walking for some time for him to realize that it would take him forever to get to his destination. This area was fine for his brother who had a driver to take him everywhere. It wasn't meant to make walking to your destination convenient. They expected you to drive.

Sherlock stood on the edge of the road and was contemplating hitchhiking to the station when a car stopped right in front of him. It was black and had the letters CAB printed on the side of it.

This is when Sherlock discovered the magic convenience of London Cabs.

Instead of telling the Cabby to bring him to the nearest tube station Sherlock instructed him to take him to Hackney.

"Are you sure you want to go there, kid? It's kind of a rough area." The cab driver asked.

"Precisely," Sherlock answered.

.0.

The doorbell rang announcing there was someone at the entry. Mycroft left his warm tea and went and answered the door. His assistant was on the other side and he gave her a displeased look.

"You told me you didn't want your mother's message." Anthea could tell that her boss wasn't impressed with her. She had been worried about her bosses relationship with his family. They hardly ever contacted him and she thought this was a chance for them to reconnect.

"That was before I knew it involved my brother being dumped on me," Mycroft grumbled unhappily.

"Can I come in?" Anthea asked, unsure where she stood with her boss. In response, Mycroft turned around and walking back inside but he left the door open. She took that as an invitation to enter, shutting the door behind her.

"So where is he?" Anthea asked looking around for any sign there was another person here. Mrs. Holmes called to inform her that she would be dropping her son off yesterday. She decided to wait until the next morning to drop by to give them the chance to settle in.

"Sherlock went on a coffee run five hours ago," Mycroft informed her as he walked towards his office.

Anthea raised her eyebrow that this information because there was a coffee shop less than a five-minute walk away. "So where'd he really go?"

"Who knows with Sherlock? He's not really a normal teenager." Mycroft sighed as he unlocked his office door.

With an older brother as extraordinary as Mycroft, she didn't think he would be. Anthea entered and sat down in the guest chair. "How has it been going so far?"

"Last night he managed to get himself arrested," Mycroft said with a sigh. "I had to use my connections to wipe his record."

"That was fast," Anthea said with disbelief. The kid hadn't been in London more than 24hrs before this happened.

"And with the withdrawal symptoms coming up, things are going to get more complicated." Mycroft expanded.

"Wait! What do you mean by withdrawal?" Anthea caught onto the word with alarm. She had a feeling that Mrs. Holmes had left out a lot of information in her explanation.

"I see that my mother left that part out," Mycroft said not surprised.

"Do you need me to book him into a rehab clinic?" Anthea asked anxiously.

"I'm going to try and deal with this myself first." Mycroft waved her off. Sherlock was a difficult individual and he didn't think that the medical staff would be able to handle him. Most likely he would escape by the day's end and Mycroft wouldn't see him again for a month's time.

"I'm going to try and get you more time off." Anthea dug out her bosses planner and scanned upcoming events. She furrowed her brow in thought since Mr. Holmes schedule was already pretty full. She had used up any free time in the near future moving meetings from this week to a later date.

"That won't be necessary. I'll use the week you've cleared for me all ready to get everything settled with Sherlock." Mycroft claimed.

"Do you really think that's possible?" Anthea asked in disbelief. She hadn't met the kid yet but this Sherlock sounded like a real handful.

Her question made Mycroft doubt himself. It would be impossible to tell how bad the situation would be until Sherlock actually went into withdrawal. "Send me my schedule and I'll cross off any meetings I won't be able to attend. I'll do all my paperwork from home."

"Anything else that I can do for you?" Anthea inquired.

"I'm going to need some readymade meals delivered. I have no food in the house." Mycroft said first.

"Is that it?" Anthea asked after making a note in her planner of the request.

"No, there's one other thing." Though Mycroft wasn't sure if he should do this. "I'm going to need you to put a security detail on Sherlock."

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Anthea asked surprised. It was looked down on to use the department's resources for family issues.

"Until Sherlock gets completely clean I can't trust him out of the house. I would feel better if I knew where he was so that I can intervene if he oversteps his bounds." Mycroft explained his reasoning. It would be impossible to concentrate on work when his brother could be getting up to who knows what while he was distracted.

"I'll get someone on that." Anthea understood why her boss thought surveillance was necessary.

"Any new information come in that we need to go over," Mycroft asked changing the subject away from his brother.

"No new information, but a package has arrived for you," Anthea informed her boss. Walking over and placing it on the edge of his desk.

Mycroft unwrapped the brown paper to reveal the box within. Gasping when he realized what the contents were. "It finally arrived." He removed the small item from the package.

"What's that?" Anthea asked curiously.

"A cell phone." Mycroft flipped the item open and fiddled with the buttons. The screen lit up with the logo of a phone company.

"That is not a cell phone," Anthea said in denial of the slender item. "A cell phone is big and bulky and feels like your holding a conk shell to your ear."

"It's a new product that they have come up with. Only available to the select few." Mycroft gushed as he scrolled through the menus.

"Give me, I want one." Anthea reached for the shiny new phone and her boss held it out of her reach.

"Maybe if you're good…" Mycroft didn't want to admit that he had already asked for one to be provided. Though It would take another week to arrive.

Anthea pouted as she sat back down then looked at the paperwork that came with the phone. "It says that all your contacts have been added to the phone and that your old cell phone number has been transferred.

"Perfect" Mycroft was glad to be rid of that other phone. It was too big to be kept on his person and he had to have his PA carry it in her purse. This one he could easily keep in his suit jacket without ruining the line.

Suddenly his new phone rang. "Mycroft Holmes speaking." He answered and then listened to what the person had to say. "Yes officer, I'll be right there to pick up my brother."

.0.

Mycroft slammed the door once he got back from the second police station in two days.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Sherlock grumbled.

"The law begs to differ!" Mycroft snapped and rubbed at his temples. "Just go to your room. I'll come and talk to you once I've seen Anthea off."

"Fine." Sherlock stomped up the stairs and Mycroft could hear the door slam.

Anthea had never seen her boss lose his cool before. It was very rare to see him even raise his voice. She guesses it's true that only a sibling could get under your skin like no one else. "I'll just leave you to sort this out then."

"Yes, I think that would be for the best." Mycroft knew that his brother would never talk in front of someone he didn't know. It would be hard enough for him to pry the information he wanted from his brother's lips without having an audience.

His PA left after promising to check on the situation in the morning.

Mycroft ascended the stairs and knocked on the guest rooms door. There was no answer though he knew his brother was inside. He checked the knob and found the door to be unlocked so he figured it was an invitation to enter.

His brother was on the bed and didn't acknowledge his entrance. Mycroft walked across the good size room and pulled up a chair. He didn't say anything and let the tension build.

"Just say it already." Sherlock snapped in annoyance. His brother's gaze was making his skin crawl.

"Really, marijuana." Mycroft sighed in disappointment.

"It was the only drug I could get on short notice." Sherlock shrugged from his position sprawled on top of the covers on his bed. He was not familiar with London yet. It was a lot harder to find the more intense street drugs.

"Why did you start taking drugs, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked inquisitively.

"I needed some way to clear my mind and escape the mediocrity of life," Sherlock replied petulantly.

"There are better ways than turning to narcotics that could have long-term consequences." Mycroft berated.

"You think I didn't think about that before touching the stuff," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I calculated what solution I could take to get the effect without the symptoms. A seven-percent solution."

"Oh, you think you're so clever," Mycroft criticized his brother's arrogance. "Most people think if they take a small amount they won't get addicted, but if you take any drug multiple times, your body will come to depend on it."

"Not the way I take it." Sherlock believed.

"How many times have you taken cocaine and over what period of time?" Mycroft inquired hoping it hadn't been long.

"What does it matter now?" Sherlock huffed stubbornly.

"It matters so that I know how bad your withdrawal symptoms are going to be," Mycroft replied.

"I'm not going to have any so that doesn't matter," Sherlock replied casually.

"How long Sherlock?" Mycroft said in a tone that he wasn't playing around. "Am I going to have to check you into a clinic?"

"That won't be necessary. I've only used it occasionally over the past two months." Sherlock informed his brother. Another boy had introduced him to the drug at school. Victor's family had moved from London to the country.

"How occasionally?" Mycroft asked to clarify.

"Once every two weeks maybe," Sherlock answered reluctantly.

So the cocaine was a new habit. The situation wasn't as bad as it could have been. Over the course of two months that equaled four hits, and Mycroft added two because of the maybe.

"When was the last time you took cocaine?" Mycroft asked just so that he knew all the facts. His mother must've confiscated his stash and then confined him to their home. When Sherlock had tried to get more drugs the other night he had been arrested before he could take them.

"Last Wednesday," Sherlock answered. It had been a trying day of school and he had just needed to escape for a while. While still under the influence he had decided to pay a visit to the science lab. Mixing up his chemicals, causing the explosion and followed by his expulsion.

It was Monday now, so that would mean that it had been a week and a half since Sherlock's last hit. Since he took the drug every two weeks, Sherlock should start craving more any day now. If his body didn't get more he should start going into withdrawal.

Mycroft looked at his watch. It had been at least 10 days 18hrs since Sherlock had a hit. Even at a seven-percent solution, the drug could build up in Sherlock's body and create a dependence. "You'll be going into withdrawal in three days."

"I told you there will be no withdrawal symptoms because I am not addicted," Sherlock snapped in annoyance.

"It may not seem like it now but when your brain has nothing to run on it will start to feel like it is ripping itself apart," Mycroft claimed as he stood up.

He turned to leave to allow his brother some time to think. Looking over his shoulder on his way out the door he said, "I also confiscated your needle set that was hidden under your mattress." Then quickly closed the door behind him. He could hear the growl of irritation through the wood.

'It was going to be a long four weeks.' Mycroft thought to himself as he went to his office to get some paperwork done.

**...TBC**


	3. I Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a few months since I updated but I had to take a break from working on this after watching season 4 of Sherlock. I think everyone can understand the reason why. The next chapter is 80 percent written already, so expect to hear from me soon.

 

**o0o0o0o0oo0o**

Mycroft laid in bed as he thought about the situation he had to deal with. It had been hard to learn to live under the same roof as his brother again. Especially with his new drug habits. It seemed like the only reason Sherlock had decided to stop taking drugs was just to spite him.

Maybe all Mycroft need to do to get Sherlock clean was to say that he didn't think that he could do it.

After his alarm went off he decided to get out of bed. Mycroft opened the door to the bathroom only to quickly back out again. His spotless clean bathroom had turned into a science lab. There was something indistinguishable soaking in the tub.

His first instinct was to go and yell at his brother but he knew that would not help the relationship between them. Instead, he took out his new cell phone and called a cleaning crew.

His plan was to not react in anger the way the Sherlock wanted him to. He was rebelling to show his displeasure.

.0.

Sherlock was confident that the cocaine would not affect him as it did others. It had been over a week since he had taken the drug and he was smug that his brother was wrong. When the three days his brother had predicted had passed Sherlock gloated he had been wrong.

"You told me you took it every two weeks and that time has not elapsed yet. We won't know till after if your body will go into withdrawal." Mycroft said as he sipped his morning tea.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something.

"Also I meant three days after our conversation not including that day, so really my prediction hasn't passed yet," Mycroft stated calmly. "If I'm right it should hit you tomorrow.

...

The next morning when Sherlock woke up he had a horrible headache that would not seem to go away. It was just as his older brother had predicted. He knew that headaches were a cause of high blood pressure. It should go away if Sherlock lowered it.

One of the best ways to lower your blood pressure was to exercise. His brother had always struggled with his weight so he knew there must be some form of exercise equipment around somewhere. After searching a few rooms with no luck, Sherlock opened the door to one of the other guest rooms and found a treadmill. 'Perfect' Sherlock thought.

What Sherlock hadn't realized was that the treadmill was positioned directly over his brother's office.

Mycroft had been trying to get some of the paperwork done that Anthea had dropped off the day before when he could hear the sound of the treadmill running on the upper floor. There was only one other house occupant that could be using it.

That was when Mycroft knew he had been right in his predictions when the withdrawal would hit.

"Have a nice workout?" Mycroft asked when they were sitting down for dinner that evening. Sherlock glared in response and immediately stomped up to his room without touching a single morsel of food.

Mycroft sighed as he looked at the takeout for two that would go to waste. He shouldn't have said anything on the matter. His brother was stubborn and did not like his failures to be picked at. Sherlock now knew Mycroft knows he is going through withdrawal. He would more than likely try everything he could to hide his symptoms.

The next day Mycroft promised himself he would not bug Sherlock when he saw him but the problem was that all day he didn't see any sign of him. For dinner, he had the other half of the Chinese takeout since it didn't seem like Sherlock would be eating it anytime soon.

o0o

Sherlock rolled around in bed trying to ignore his bodily needs. Usually, he was able to go a day or two without feeling the need to eat. Right now he was feeling a deep hunger and a craving for food. Sherlock had skipped the last few meals to avoid running into Mycroft. All day he had stayed out of his brother's way which meant avoiding the kitchen altogether.

He hadn't eaten anything all day. His body must have reached its limit and required nourishment.

He snuck down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and opened the fridge. It was gleaming white and there was nothing inside except for a carton of milk. Sherlock slammed the door closed.

.0.

When Mycroft woke up he immediately headed down to the kitchen. He was greeted by the sight of every cupboard open and all his dishes strewn about. It looked like it had been ransacked.

"What the fuck is the point of having a kitchen if there is no food in it!" Sherlock said in agitation from where he was sitting on one of the stools at the island. He had dark bags under his eyes.

"Good morning to you too brother dear," Mycroft said dismissively as he went and put the kettle on.

He knew that his brother would deny this but it seemed Sherlock was showing the symptom of increased appetite. Cocaine suppressed a person's appetite to the point that the user felt they didn't need any nourishment.

Mycroft opened the fridge and found a dead rat. Quickly he closed the door again. "What the hell Sherlock?!"

"Well, the fridge should be used for something useful," Sherlock stated his reasoning behind the nasty surprise.

"How is a dead rat useful?" Mycroft asked in disbelief. He had to bite his lip not to start berating his brother more. He had to remember his goal not to react to his bad behavior.

"I'm performing an experiment," Sherlock answered bluntly as he slid off the stool. Leaving without any further information.

o0o

It was late at night but Sherlock was still up. This wasn't unusual behavior from him but this time it wasn't by choice. When he had attempted to sleep he had a very turbulent dream that had unsettled him.

Foiled from sleep again. This time from bad dreams instead of hunger. Sherlock gave up trying to fall back to sleep again. He was completely awake now.

The violin music woke Mycroft at 4 in the morning.

It wasn't nice music either. It was screeching like Sherlock was trying to play away his frustration or something. Mycroft rolled over and placed the pillow over his head to block out the noise.

.0.

By only the second day of Sherlock's withdrawal, Mycroft couldn't take it anymore. He had large bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and was having a hard time functioning. He could live without a lot of things but sleep was not one of them.

Sherlock's insomnia was getting worse instead of better as time went on. Mycroft prayed it would end soon. An agitated Sherlock was not a good thing.

In less than a week, Sherlock had managed to chase Mycroft out of his own bedroom.

With a phone call, he had some men come in and bring his bed down to the office on the first floor. His desk was pushed off to the side to make room for the large piece of furniture. It seemed like a lot of trouble but it was worth it.

For the first time since his brother had gotten there, Mycroft had a solid seven hours of sleep.

o0o

When Mycroft went to his bedroom to grab some clothes, something seemed out of place. His eyes scanned the emasculate room for anything that had been moved. A specific painting was a little crooked and he felt his heart sink.

Walking over he opened the frame that was on hinges that revealed a safe. The number pad had been moved. With nimble fingers, he entered the code. Once it was opened his fears had been confirmed; the needle set was missing.

If that was gone it could only mean one thing. Mycroft prayed that his brother wouldn't relapse but he didn't have much hope.

.0.

In a city like London, it wasn't hard to find a drug dealer. You just had to ask the shadiest person and they would point you in the right direction. Sherlock had managed to take enough money from his brother to buy a gram of coke.

As the junkie had said, there was a man standing under the single street light in an ally way. Sherlock approached him and asked for a gram. Once Sherlock had handed the money over in exchange for the small amount of drugs, he could hear approaching footsteps from behind him.

"You're under arrest for buying narcotics," A police officer in a uniform announced. "You have a right to an attorney."

Sherlock sighed and offered his hands to be cuffed.

How did he not realize it was a sting operation? It was obvious now that he knew what to look for. Sherlock cursed to himself as he was put into the police car.

...

"Brother of mine." Mycroft greeted as he picked his brother up from the police station.

"Brother dear," Sherlock replied bitterly.

Anyone overhearing them might think they were words of endearment but it was an exchange of distance. It was what was expected of two brothers.

The arresting officer looked between the two of them curiously. "It says here in the system, that it's the boy's first offense," Sherlock tried to hide the laughter under his breath at that remark. He received an elbow in the ribs from his brother. "Since he never actually took any drugs, we'll let him off with a warning."

"Thank you, officer Gregson. It is very much appreciated. I'll make sure that he doesn't do it again." Mycroft led his brother away by the arm. He could hear two officers talking as he left.

"Who was that?"

"I'm not exactly sure Lestrade."

...

They drove back home silently. Once the door was closed Sherlock went to go upstairs but Mycroft grabbed him by the arm. "I think we need to have a talk."

"Why? I couldn't stay clean, you win. You were right." Sherlock turned on his heal thinking they were done but his brother didn't release his arm.

"I didn't want to be right for once. I care that you're destroying yourself." Mycroft snapped.

"You don't actually care." Sherlock turned around and snapped right back. He knew that he was just a burden that was in the way of his brother's advancement in his career.

"Of course I do. You're my brother." Mycroft said in denial. He knew when he had first heard of what his mother had wanted him to do; he had thought about what this would mean for his job. He hadn't thought of his brother as a person but as an obstacle, he had to get through.

"Just because we're related doesn't mean anything. It's all just chemistry. A string of DNA that's supposed to connect us." Sherlock brushed off his comment.

"That can be true in some situations," Mycroft nodded thinking about parents who ran off or kids that were adopted. "It's the experiences between individuals that connect them. A friend could mean more to someone than a blood relative."

"You came to me for comfort when you were scared," Mycroft replied. "I changed your diapers."

"No reason to get sentimental." Sherlock requested.

"I'd quite rather forget the last experience," Mycroft confessed, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

"We haven't acted as brothers for years," Sherlock pointed out. Leaving immediately after for bed.

Mycroft knew that it was mostly his fault for that.

He knew that his brother had never gotten along with other children very well. Mycroft was the same in that aspect but he could push down his frustration and get along with other individuals for business sake. His brother would just push them away. With him gone it left his brother a very lonely individual who had grown to hate him for abandoning him.

Once Mycroft had gotten to University his grades had been the first thing on his mind and then he had been recruited. MI6 had become his whole world. It caused him to miss every chance he had to go home and all the major holidays.

There was hardly a letter sent home over those few years to his little brother. At first, Sherlock wrote him lots of letters full of details of his adventures. Mycroft had responded to every single one of them until MI6 had come along. After going through training, his brother's stories seemed trivial and he couldn't think of anything to write that wouldn't seem demeaning, so he sent nothing. Slowing the letters became further apart until there were none at all. Mycroft was so busy he barely noticed.

Once he graduated from university and passed the program, Mycroft thought that it was the time to reconnect with his past life. Christmas had been coming up and he thought it would be the perfect opportunity to visit his parents.

When he got there his parents had been happy to see him but his brother gave him the cold shoulder. They had to force Sherlock out of his room. Sherlock's voice was changing and he looked like he was days away from a growth spurt. It saddened Mycroft to realize that he had left when his brother was a child and now he was a pre-teen going through puberty.

Mycroft always thought that his brother would still be waiting for him once he had settled into his career. He had been gravely mistaken. Sherlock had grown up with his older brother becoming a distant memory. It shouldn't have surprised Mycroft that Sherlock would fight him when he tried to reinsert himself into the boy's life.

o0o

The week that Anthea had cleared for him was almost up. It worried Mycroft how precarious Sherlock's situation still was.

His brother had managed to make it through the withdrawal process without any more slip ups. Sherlock was clean once again. His mind still wasn't at ease on the issue though.

Mycroft was worried that there would be another relapse once he was back at work. He had to force himself not to get Sherlock admitted into rehab while they were ahead. Sherlock had to have a chance to prove himself first.

Looking through the information his mother had left, he didn't like that she had enrolled Sherlock at South Hampton High School. It defiantly wasn't the worst, High Gate took that place, but it certainly wasn't the best. It was too late now but Mycroft was going to look into better options.

Mycroft decided to bring the topic up over dinner. "You'll be starting school tomorrow."

"Is that really necessary?" Sherlock grumbled as he played with his Indian takeout.

"Getting an education, yes," Mycroft replied firmly. "You'll go to school and I'll be going back to work."

"I see what this is," Sherlock sat up straighter in his seat. "You just want to force me out of the house so that you can get back to your precious work."

"I have a very important job that I don't want to lose." Mycroft reminded his little brother that he had other responsibilities. "People your age go to school. That is just how the world works. There are people who would love to get an education."

"School is supposed to be about learning something new. I already know everything they're teaching," Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft wouldn't be surprised if his brother did. "If that is true I'll get you to take an aptitude test. For now, you need to go to school so that you can get your diploma that will lead to bigger better things."

"Does that mean I no longer have to attend school if I get perfect on the test?" Sherlock asked with a sarcastic tone that his brother seemed to miss.

"No. That means you can go immediately to University and get a diploma in the program of your choosing." Mycroft replied which he received an eye roll for.

"How exciting, more school," Sherlock said in a mocking tone.

o0o

Mycroft knew his brother enough to know that if he didn't drop him off himself, Sherlock would never go. He would head out the door saying he was going somewhere and end up in a completely different part of the city.

His black town car pulled up in front of the high school, receiving suspicious looks from the other students.

"Remember, this is your chance to make a new start," Mycroft pointed out as he handed his brother a backpack he had bought for him.

"Whatever," Sherlock replied as he opened the car door. Everyone on the front lawn was staring at him. He had half a mind to just turn around and leave again but he could still hear Mycroft's town car idling behind him. Waiting until he entered the building to leave.

...

Being a new student in grade twelve was not an easy thing for a normal person. All the social groups had already been set. For Sherlock, it was impossible to immerse himself with the students.

When he was younger he got called the teacher's pet just because he knew all the answers. They didn't like him because he made them look bad. He learned to not bother answering any of the teacher's questions in class, it only put a target on his back.

Sherlock did not enjoy school. He had never fit in with others his own age. As the years went by he became cynical. Sherlock didn't care what anyone else thought about him anymore.

He had been hoping that it was just people in the countryside who were so boring. It appears that it was the whole human race.

Instead of heading to his last class for the day Sherlock headed for the door. He couldn't stand sitting through one more period listening to a teacher drone on about a topic he already knew about. As he made his way down the steps he slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. He stopped to dig a lighter out of his pocket when a voice behind him made him jump.

"You're the new kid aren't you?" Sherlock looked over his shoulder at an older boy who had spoken. He had been smoking in the space beside the stairs.

"So?" Sherlock replied as he gave up looking for a lighter. Looking at his cigarette with disappointment.

The boy smiled in response to his careless answer. "I'm Victor Trevor." He introduced himself as he offered a lighter for him to use.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you must know," Sherlock replied as he lit his cigarette and handed the lighter back.

"Skipping class already?" Trevor asked with shock in his tone since he had heard over the PA system about their new student just that morning.

"You're one to talk," Sherlock commented sarcastically as he blew out some smoke.

"Touché," Viktor eyed the new student critically. "Want something a little stronger than that?" He offered and revealed a small baggie containing a white substance.

Sherlock jolted in shock. He had been expecting the other boy to pull out some weed, not a bag of cocaine. "Where'd you get that?"

"My father's rich..." Trevor answered with a shrug like that was the only explanation Sherlock would need. "Want some or not?"

Who knew that the easiest place to get drugs was in school.

**...TBC**


	4. The Docks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know last time I said you would hear from me soon like over half a year ago. and I'm sorry for not keeping that. I apologize to anyone who started following this story back then.
> 
> I ended up moving halfway across the country and had to pack my whole life up. It was completely emotionally and physically exhausting. I suffered severe writer's block for months because I was so tense. I'm finally all settled into Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.
> 
> This is actually the first part I wrote for this story, like a year and a half ago. I'm glad to finally be posting it. I have this story split into ten chapters currently, I'll see if it grows.

**o0o0o0o**

It had been hard for Mycroft to concentrate all day. He had to be broken from a deep train of thought multiple times during a progress meeting.

Mycroft tried to convince himself he was just worrying over nothing. Sherlock was almost an adult now. He can make his own decisions.

That was before he got a call informing him that Sherlock had left school before last period.

o0o

It had only been a few weeks since Greg had graduated from the police academy. He'd started shifts with a supervising officer.

They were riding in the police cruiser when the radio started to crackle. "Answer it." His instructor officer Miller grumbled since he was busy driving.

With a little apprehension, Greg picked up the radio. Pressing the button he held the mouthpiece close to his face and pressed the button. "...ten-four." Just as they had instructed them in the academy.

There was some static before the dispatcher's voice came back. "Disturbance in the Isle of Dogs area, gunshots heard, report to 47 Mill Harbour."

"The docks again. Time for some excitement," Officer Miller grinned as he turned the car in a sharp u-turn. Greg had to hold on so he didn't hit his head. They flew through the traffic. It was always a rush to have everyone get out of your way.

...

The siren was turned off once they were approached the crime scene. There was already police tape up by the time they had arrived. They exited the police cruiser and approached the crime scene. Greg could see a body covered by a sheet not far away.

"What happened here?" Miller asked one of the officers who were already on scene.

"Stab wound in the back that looks like it pierced his spleen. Causing him to most likely bleed to death internally." The medical examiner explained his findings.

"Most likely taken out in a gang war. This area has a heavy history of that." Officer Miller said offhandedly. He had seen dozens of stabbing victims over his 15yr police service. This one didn't seem different than any of the rest.

"Obviously you're wrong." A posh voice spoke from the shadows. This area was high traffic for druggies and the homeless so the boy's dirty appearance wasn't surprising. There were holes in the knees of his jeans and the hoodie he wore was frayed around the edges. The boy also looked high as a kite.

"Wrong about what?" Miller snapped at the meddlesome boy.

"He isn't involved in a gang. Just look at him," The junkie rambled on. "His clothes are of a good quality and he shows no signs of drug use."

Greg kind of thought the kid had a point. The surrounding officers looked at each other in bewilderment. It was true that the victim didn't look like the usual gang members they had seen.

"Most likely he is a student at one of the nearby Universities and was taking advantage of the cheap rent in the Dockside apartment."

"What proof do you have of that?" Greg asked curiously. He had been writing down everything the boy had been saying on his notepad to add to the file.

"Judging by the full bag of Tesco groceries strewn nearby," The boy pointed to a plastic bag on the ground not far away that had fruit and vegetables sticking out of it.

"It's my theory that the boy had gone out late to grab some groceries at the nearby Tesco's after classes. He's not a native resident of London and hails from the countryside. Must have seen a fight and tried to break it up. It's a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. He wanted to help, but it was him who was helpless in the end."

The officers looked at the boy like he was mad.

"It was a fight between two competing business owners. They had a beef with each other and one of them brought a knife. When a scuffle broke out, our student tried to break up the fight. When trying to stab his target he accidentally plunged the knife into our victim's back -piercing his heart and not his spleen- causing him to die instantly.

"That's a fanciful story boy, but I don't think any of it is true." Miller snapped gruffly.

"I always miss something, so that may be true." The boy stated uncaringly.

"You must have witnessed the murder to have that information. I think you need to come down to the station," Officer Miller announced.

"I was back by Canary Wharf tube station during the time of the murder. You can check the security camera's if you don't believe me." The boy replied unconcernedly.

"Sir, I think there is another reason we should bring the boy in." Greg had noticed the glazed look to the sea foam eyes. He whispered his suspicions into his superior officer's ear.

"Officers restrain the boy," Miller instructed.

Greg performed a pat down and pulled a bag of white powder from the boy's front pocket. So his suspicions were true.

"You are being charged with possession of an illegal substance." Miller pinned the teen to a police cruiser as he cuffed him. He was practically thrown into the back seat.

"Try and get the kid to talk," Miller suggested. Leaning on the roof of the cruiser. "He's more likely to open up to someone closer his own age."

"You do realize I'm close to my late twenties already right?" Greg pointed out that he wasn't exactly a kid himself anymore. There was probably a 10 year age gap at least between them.

"Don't get smart with me," Miller rebuffed as they talked across the road. "You're the youngest officer here, so it falls to you to get the kids name." Opening the door, he climbed into the driver's seat and slammed it behind him.

How the hell was he supposed to do that? Greg climbed into the passenger side and buckled his seat belt. The engine fired up and they started to move back towards the station. Greg looked into the back seat to the kid who was sulking.

"Did you grow up in London?" Greg tried to start with simple questions. Like he was just being friendly.

"Aw, the small talk technique," The teen rolled his eyes. All cops were so predictable. "Just ask for my name already."

"How'd you know I didn't just want to just get to know you?" Greg asked curiously.

"Because I am not an idiot," The teen replied with a sarcastic tone.

"Well, what's your name?" Greg asked outright.

"I don't feel like telling you now," The boy turned his attention to look out the window to the streets passing by.

"Brat," Greg mumbled as he turned back around.

"You're just a kid, what the hell do you know?" Miller commented.

"Before started your career as a police officer you finished a University Degree in Criminology since you want to be able to raise in rank to work directly for New Scotland Yard. You'll be promoted in due time." The boy said as he looked him over.

"How'd you know all that?" Greg turned in his seat to look at the boy.

Then the kid turned his eyes to Miller. "Directly after graduating High School you attended the police academy, you worked as a traffic cop for several years before being moved up to a minor disturbance call officer. It only in the past few years that you've moved up to more serious crimes like this, but only because you're a senior officer. Not from any skill in the art of solving a crime."

It was like the boy had no filter on his mouth. Miller's hands tightened on the steering wheel in annoyance. You could tell that everything the teen said was right.

It wasn't long until the cruiser pulled up to the station. They waited until the garage door had closed to get out. "I need to get away from that kid before I do something that I regret," Miller claimed as he stomped away from the cruiser. I guess that left Greg to finish processing.

When Greg opened the back door the boy didn't struggle at all. The teen was too calm about being arrested. It was like he had previous experiences before.

He patted the teen down to make sure the kid wasn't hiding anything else. Greg tugged up the boys sleeve revealing some older track marks up his arm. There was a lump in one of the kid's pockets. Reaching in, Greg retrieved a leather wallet. Flipping it open, he expected to see ID but it was empty. There wasn't even any money.

His fingers felt an indent on the outside. Greg expected it to just be a brand name. When he closed it to see his brow furrowed. Indented into the leather was Sherlock H. It looked like one of those personalized passport covers that were all the rage.

Greg waved the wallet in the teen's face. "So, Sherlock is it?"

"So you know my first name," Sherlock shrugged. "What can you do with that?"

"A lot with a weird name like this," Greg exited the room in triumph. After finding out the kids name was Sherlock he backed off. There is no way there could be more than one in the greater London area. Maybe even the whole of Britain. At least not under the age of fifty.

Noticing the boy's height and deep voice he estimated him to be around nineteen.

Taking a chance he typed the kid's name into the police search engine but nothing showed up. So the kid didn't have a previous record it appeared. Since he knew the boy was likely underage, Greg searched the school board records. There was only one result.

Immediately a picture popped up of a young boy with the same features as the one currently in their interrogation room. It featured a school day picture instead of the mug shots he usually ended up with. After the boy was brought in for using drugs, Greg thought for sure that he had a rap sheet. Surprisingly his file stated this was his first offense.

Checking the next of kin section, there was only one number listed with no name. Shrugging Greg called it anyway. Figuring it must belong to some institution. Maybe the kid was a ward of the state. There was a corresponding ring approaching his cubical. Greg figured it was just a coincidence so he didn't pay any attention to it.

Someone cleared their throat to get his attention. Snapping his head up Greg's eyes met the chest of someone wearing a fancy suit. His eyes followed the form up to the person's face. He expected to see some middle-aged pencil pusher. Instead, Greg met the grey eyes of someone in their early twenties.

If it wasn't for the fact he could tell the man still had some baby fat on his cheeks he could believe them to be much older. Despite the man's young age, he looked like he belonged in the three piece suite.

While making direct eye contact the young man answered his ringing cell phone. Since Greg was still holding the receiver to his ear he should not have been surprised to hear the man's voice echo. "I would greatly appreciate if you would release the occupant of interrogation room three."

The dial tone started once the man hung up.

Realizing he looked dumb still holding the receiver up to his ear after there was clearly no longer someone on the other side any longer, Greg hung up with a blush. This guy must be pretty rich to have one of those newfangled cell phones. Greg had heard of the newest advance in technology but he had never actually seen one in person.

Clearing his throat before speaking. "Can I enquirer who you are?"

"Mycroft Holmes." Answered like his name said it all. It certainly proved they were part of the same family. Their parents must have been one for strange names.

"And you're his …" Greg left the young man to fill in the blank. There was no possible way he was the boy's father.

"Sadly I'm his older brother," The man replied as he dug through the briefcase in his left hand.

With the suit Greg expected the man to be the boy's lawyer or something. The older brother didn't quite fit.

"Now let us not procrastinate any longer," Mycroft after retrieving some paperwork he clicked the case closed. Walking over he handed the papers over.

Looking down Greg realized they were release forms. Ones that had already been filled in and dated with an official stamp. According to the time stamp, it had been done while Sherlock had been being escorted into the police cruiser from the crime scene. Greg blinked at the man in confusion.

Suddenly his phone rang. "Officer Lestrade talking," Surprisingly it was the chief of Scotland Yard on the other end informing him that he had to release Sherlock Holmes from holding. "But sir...I understand... right away sir." He hung up still in a state of confusion. Why was this boy important enough to require a call from the super attendant.

"Will you be paying the bail?' Greg asked trying to follow the procedure as he had been instructed.

"There 's no point, my brother will not be attending any court case, since all charges had already been dropped," Mycroft exclaimed like it was a fact.

"Dropped!" Greg exclaimed with shock. "How is that even possible? I myself found cocaine on his person. The possession charges should have stuck at least."

The man just shrugged.

"How the hell did you know he was here?" Greg asked as he led the man down the hallway.

"I have my ways of keeping track of his location," Mycroft answered mysteriously. His shiny shoes made clicking noises on the linoleum floor as he followed.

When Greg opened the door the boy was leaning his chair back on its two back legs while paying way too much attention to the surveillance camera. The hawk-like eyes turned their attention to their entrance. "Oh Mycroft, you're finally here," The chair fell back to the ground with a loud clack. "What took you so long?"

The boy had been in custody less than an hour. They had only just finished processing him a few minutes ago.

The man beside him let out a long-suffering sigh. "I did not deem it mandatory until you had actually been arrested."

The teen stood from the chair and strutted out of the interrogation room. Not even a word of thanks to his brother. The man sighed as he dug something out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"If he gets arrested again, contact me first." Mycroft handed the police officer his business card.

"Will do." Greg took the offered card. It was just plain white with the name Mycroft Holmes in bold letters with a phone number, there was no job title included. It was a mysterious business card to go with a mysterious man.

He followed the two towards the front door of the station. He could overhear the two sniping at each other.

"Some of us have better things to do than hang out in police stations," Mycroft claimed with annoyance. The boy snorted and shook his messy curls in response. "Mummy will be so disappointed." Greg could hear as the door closed behind them.

.

What was strange was when Greg typed the name Mycroft Holmes into the system nothing came up at all. Not even any old school photos or a parking ticket could be found. It was like the man's existence had been erased.

There was something about the younger man that was intriguing.

 

**...TBC**


	5. Poloroid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me so long to get this next part up. I had broken my rough story into ten chapters and was just writing on one part when I realized this chapter had gotten passed 6,000 words so I broke it into two parts. The next chapter is almost ready to be posted too so there shouldn't be as long a wait.

 

**o0o0o0o**

Mycroft closed the front door behind him with a sigh.

It was close to four in the morning now and he was exhausted. Unlike his brother, Mycroft did not function well on lack of sleep. He should really wait to have this conversation until the morning but Mycroft just had to know. "Where did you get the drugs, Sherlock?"

"School," Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"What!" Mycroft snapped in disbelief.

"During last period I went out to have a smoke and a student offered some cocaine freely," Sherlock explained. "I didn't even have to ask."

"Oh, I knew that school that mummy picked out was trouble," Mycroft bemoaned to himself. He should have gone through the trouble of finding a better one. "I not sending you back there."

"Does that mean I don't have t go to school?" Sherlock asked with eagerness. It wasn't that he didn't want to get an education, it was that he found they had nothing to teach him there. He was passed their level of education.

"I'll find somewhere better." Mycroft snapped. He did not need this on top of everything else."Of course, now we are back where we started with you having to go through withdrawal again." Mycroft sighed with frustration.

"It was only one hit how bad could it be?" Sherlock shrugged it off.

"The way you ingest a drug can have a totally different effect," Mycroft hissed with aggravation. "It's impossible to only take a 7 percent solution of a powder. You can't water it down."

Rather than admit that Mycroft could be right about something Sherlock decided to leave the situation. He stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to his room.

Mycroft winced at the loud noise it made. He hoped there was no damage made to his house. At a much more sedate pace, he followed his brother. Sherlock could not just run away from this conversation.

Not surprisingly when he tried the knob, Mycroft found it to be locked. He sighed and dug in his pocket and came out with a tie pin. He placed the metal pin in the lock and jiggled it until he heard the lock click open. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could pick a lock.

By the time he opened the door, the room was empty and the window was open. Mycroft kicked the door frame in his frustration.

"I should put bars on the window," Mycroft mumbled to himself as he dialed Anthea's number on his phone. "Can you check the traffic cameras for my street. It seems my brother has run off again."

o0o

Greg sighed with relief when he closed the door to his apartment behind him. He didn't like working the night shift but it came with the job so he would just have to get used to it. Greg had bought some good blackout curtains for his room.

He knew he should have something to eat before he collapsed into bed but Greg was just too tired. He walked towards his bedroom but Greg backtracked when he realized someone was sitting on his couch. It was the same boy from the station earlier.

Greg stared in silence with shock. "What the hell are you doing here?" He found himself saying.

"I needed somewhere to stay that my brother wouldn't find me," Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"Why would you need to do that?" Greg asked bemusedly. Even after seeing the two interact for a short amount of time he could tell they had a strained relationship.

"He's rubbing on my last nerve." Sherlock snuggled deeper into the cushions.

"How the hell do you know where I live?" Greg had just realized the boy should not know his address.

"Stole your wallet." Sherlock shrugged as he held up the leather slip.

Greg patted his pocket only to find it empty. "Give it back." He grumbled with irritation. Greg didn't know when the teen had the chance to take it. He caught his wallet when he threw it at him. "Don't you have anywhere else to go?" Greg asked since most teens had friends houses they could escape to.

"No," Sherlock answered like the disgruntled teen he was. Rolling over on the coach to turn his back to him.

Greg doubted he could get the teen to leave without a struggle. He was too tired to deal with it right now. "Whatever, I'm going to bed." Greg wasn't worried about him stealing anything from him because he had nothing of any great worth.

...

Greg woke up when his alarm went off at noon. When he was switching to days he only allowed himself a few hours of sleep so he could go to bed at a decent time. The transition time they gave them was harsh on their bodies.

Once his brain had started to wake up Greg remembered what had happened that morning. It had been a true shock to come home from work and find almost a complete stranger sitting on his couch. He wondered why he hadn't called the police like anyone else would have.

'Well he hadn't been murdered in his sleep', Greg thought with amusement. He wondered if that teen was still here. Greg listened for any sound of movement and heard the a cup being moved around. So he was still here.

Reluctantly Greg forced himself out of his covers.

He walked out of his room to the sight of the teenager sitting on his couch drinking a cup of coffee, and going through the cold case file he had been allowed to bring him with himself to study. He rushed over and snatched it from the teen's hands. "This is not for your eyes."

"I already solved it anyway," Sherlock claimed as he took a sip of his coffee.

Greg narrowed his eyes. "Is there any of that left?" The teen pointed towards the half-filled pot in the kitchen. Without saying another word he went over and poured himself a cup since he was useless without his morning coffee or afternoon in this case. After taking a couple sips of the hot beverage Greg was ready to confront the teen.

Instead of asking 'what the hell are you doing in my apartment?' Greg ended up asking, "So who did it?"

"What?" The teen asked in astonishment.

"You heard me. Who killed Roy McCaleb?" Greg asked as he walked back into the living room.

Sherlock looked at him like it was going to be a trick but answered anyway. "It was the wife of course."

"How can you be so sure it was her?" Greg inquired.

"She gave a sob story of how her husband walked in on a man trying to rape her and ended up shooting him while fleeing the home. But there was no evidence of a break-in or any fluids left behind from a sexual accounter; consensual or otherwise," Sherlock explained his conclusion. "It was Mrs. Carolyn Sue Krizan-Wilson's seventh marriage. Of course, after being married to him for two years she was able to claim his life insurance policy."

God dammit if the kid wasn't right. He didn't know how the teen had worked that out in just a few hours when it took Greg a week to come to the same conclusion. The fact that it was her seventh marriage wasn't even in the file.

"I'm right aren't I?" Sherlock asked with confidence. He could read it on the man's face.

"Shut up and drink your coffee," Greg grumbled as he sipped his own.

He looked at the teen who was looking a little rough around the edges. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes. "Are you alright?" Greg asked when the kid suddenly looked nauseous. Rushing, Greg dumped the contents of a bowel he kept on his coffee table and held it under the boys face. Just in time for the contents of the his stomach to make an appearance.

It was a short amount of time before he stopped. Clutching the bowl to his chest. There were shivers that rocked his thin frame.

"Well that's a different reaction," Sherlock stated with interest.

"What do you mean?" Greg asked for clarification.

"This is the first time I've ever snorted cocaine, " Sherlock said with a shrug. "Usually I just get insomnia and extremely hungry once the drug has left my system.

"Just lay down," He pushed the teen onto the couch and took the bowel away from him. "I'll get you some water."

Greg walked into his small kitchen and emptied the bowel into the sink. Washing away the puke. The smell wafting up, hitting him in the face making him gag.

Helping a junkie detox was not how he imagined spending his weekend.

Having a sudden thought, Greg dug into his coat pocket. Feeling the thin card against his hand he pulled it out in triumph. The teen's brother must be worried sick about him. Retrieving his cell phone from his other coat pocket. He had just recently gotten a phone with the ability to text. It was hard getting used to having to press each key a certain amount of times to get the right letter. Greg didn't think the brother would understand texting shorthand.

_Your brother is at my place. He's safe.    5:34_

He hit send. Then he realized Mycroft might not know who sent the text.

_It's Greg Lestrade by the way.     5:36_

It took less than a minute for his phone to ring. He winced and shot a worried look towards the living room. Walking towards his front door, he answered the phone as he was out in the hall. "Hello."

"How did my brother end up at an officers apartment?" Mycroft's cool voice asked.

"I don't know, broke in I suspect," Greg answered still contemplating how the teen had gotten in himself. There had been no sign of a break-in.

There was a long sigh. "I'll come to pick him up."

"No. I'll take care of him," Greg volunteered. "I think it will go more smoothly if I do it. He seems annoyed with you for some reason."

"Sherlock does not need a reason to be annoyed with me," Mycroft mumbled more to himself than in the phone's speaker. "You don't have to do that. He's my responsibility."

"I've got it all covered. This isn't the first time I've helped someone detox," Greg hated to admit. He had some friends in college who had done some experimenting that had not turned out too well.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked with hesitation.

"I've got it covered. He's sleeping on the couch as we speak." Greg reassured the man.

"If there is any trouble you call me immediately," Mycroft demanded.

"I will," Greg agreed. "I got to get back before he pukes again."

"He did what _?_ "

"Bye." Greg hung up with a chuckle.

When he opened the door to his apartment he was unsurprised to see the teen standing there.

"You called my brother," Sherlock stated.

"Well technically I texted him, Mycroft called me," Greg answered.

"So when's he going to be here so I can know when I need to leave?" Sherlock asked with exasperation.

"He's not coming. I convinced him I would look after you." Greg answered

"Really, why the hell would you do that?" Sherlock looked at him with suspicion.

"I'm just a martyr for punishment," Greg answered because there was no reason for him to volunteer. He must have taken a liking to the kid for some reason.

Suddenly Sherlock ran towards the bathroom with his hands over his mouth, followed by the sound of puking.

"How do you even have anything left to puke up?" Greg asked with amazement, standing the doorway to the bathroom. The teen looked like death warmed over.

Sherlock just groaned as he hugged the toilet. All he wanted to do was sleep. His stomach would not keep anything down. Sherlock was never snorting cocaine again. It was much harder to judge how much to take.

Getting a sudden idea, Greg went and dug out his Polaroid camera. He walked back over to the bathroom where the teen was still hugging the toilet. When he snapped a picture the flash went off.

Sherlock winced at the burst of light. "What are you doing?"

"Now we can have picture evidence to remind you not to make the same mistake again," Greg said as he shook the Polaroid back and forth so that it would develop.

o0o

Mycroft hung up the phone with a furrowed brow. He had agreed to allow practically a complete stranger to take care of his brother. He must really be going mad.

"Anthea," Mycroft called and waited for his assistant to appear."Can you get a background check done on one Gregory Lestrade?"

"Yes, sir," Anthea answered as she typed on her new phone.

.0.

A file was promptly brought to Mycroft by the end of the day.

When he opened it a picture of Lestrade's police academy photo was held with a paper clip at the top. Mycroft found himself examining the photo. The officer had open brown eyes and brown hair that was showing some peppering of grey at his temples that. By the time the man was 40, he would be completely grey. It did not make the man look old.

Getting caught up in the man's eyes, Mycroft shook his head and quickly put the picture down.

Looking at general background information. Greg Lestrade parents were divorced and he had an older sister. His mother was a baker and his father was also a cop. His sister was a stay at home mother with three children but did not live in London. The father was deceased while the mother lived with the sister.

It went on to list all of Lestrade's schooling from grade school all the way to high school with all of his report card marks. Not interested in that information, Mycroft skipped ahead.

Lestrade had completed a college course on criminology and then entered into the police academy. After graduation, he had served two years as a uniformed constable. Recently he passed the 12-week course to become a detective. Currently, he was a Trainee Investigator in his probation period to becoming a sergeant.

Of course being on the police force he had no criminal record.

It also listed all of Lestrade's previous romantic partners. Mycroft was surprised to see both female and male names. It wasn't uncommon for a girl to have the name Sammy or even Charlie, but judging from the number of names they were males. So Lestrade was bisexual.

When he found himself contemplating the fact he snapped the folder closed.

Luckily, nothing in the file was worrying in any way. Hopefully, he could relax and get some sleep for once.

.0.

Instead, he spent most of the night lying in bed wondering what Lestrade and his brother were doing. It was strange how all you wanted to do was go to sleep but you found yourself contemplating all your worries. Mycroft checked his phone for any messages. Surely Lestrade would have called him if anything went wrong.

Mycroft dressed for work sluggishly. He had only managed to fall asleep in the early morning from exhaustion. He walked into his office with a large coffee in his hand. It was unusual for him because Mycroft was usually a tea person. Before he sat behind his desk he could feel it wasn't going to be a very productive day.

Mycroft furrowed his brow when his assistant wordlessly placed a folder in front of him with a smirk.

Curiously he dumped the contents on his desk. There were a dozen Polaroid's. Each one contained Sherlock in a different hunched position. There a time stamp is written on the back of them with a marker.

He couldn't help but laugh at one of Sherlock hugging a toilet like it was his salvation. Mycroft was thinking about having the Polaroid framed.

The last one he picked up was Greg performing a thumbs up with Sherlock eating a donut in the background.

He sighed in relief. It seemed everything had gone smoothly.

o0o

On Monday evening Mycroft went to pick his brother up from the sergeant's apartment. Lestrade had called him because he has to be back at work the next morning so was no longer able to look after his brother. Mycroft knocked on the shabby door, it opened after a few seconds.

"We meet again," Greg exclaimed with amusement. It was interesting seeing the well-dressed man in his hallway. He wondered if he ever wore anything other than suits.

"Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft nodded in greeting. The man was out of uniform and wearing a pair of old jeans and a black t-shirt. "Thank you for looking after my brother. I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"It was fine once he stopped puking," Greg replied with amusement.

Mycroft couldn't help wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant image that came to mind.

"I was hoping you would get some sleep knowing your brothers in safe hands but it appears you didn't," Greg said after looking closer at the man's appearance. His outfit was impeccable as ever but it was hard to hide the bags under his eyes.

"I worry about him constantly," Mycroft replied. Did he look that exhausted for a stranger to notice?

"One moment I'll get your brother." Lestrade disappeared back into his apartment.

A couple minutes later the officer returned with a sheepish expression. "It appears he seems to be gone. Must have slipped out the fire escape when I went to answer the door."

"Not surprising, Sherlock has done the same thing to me multiple times," Mycroft said it with a sigh.

Greg observed how tired the man looked. "Do you want to get a drink?"

"I peg your pardon?" Mycroft looked at the man with confusion.

"You just look exhausted, the best thing sometimes is just to get a little drunk. So what do you think?" Greg suggested. "Sherlock isn't going to be found until he wants to be."

Mycroft nodded in consent. Lestrade gave him a smirk then turned and locked his door. When Mycroft had agreed to a drink he had expected to be invited into the apartment. It would be rude to turn around on his agreement now.

They took the stairs to street level. Mycroft started heading towards the government car he had taken to the sergeant's apartment but the man grabbed his arm.

"It's a nice evening and the pub isn't too far away," Lestrade said out loud and started to walk backwards down the street.

With a sigh, Mycroft tapped on the window which immediately rolled down. "It appears we will be, walking, and I won't being needing the car for the near future," Mycroft explained with displeasure. "I will call you if I need your services."

"Yes, sir." His driver replied with amusement. He knew his boss wasn't one for physical activity. When Mr. Holmes leaned back away from the car, he rolled up the window.

Lestrade looked on with amusement as the man finished his conversation with his driver. It was weird that he was even socializing with someone who even had a driver. The black vehicle pulled away from the curb and Mycroft approached him.

"This establishment better not be far away like you said," Mycroft said with discontent.

"It depends on what you consider far," Greg stated with a shrug.

"More than 3 blocks," Mycroft answered seriously. Which the officer winced at. "It is much more than that, isn't it?

"Should we call you to ride to come back?" Greg asked with amusement. Pointing the direction the vehicle had disappeared in.

"Too late now," Mycroft said as he stalked in the direction the man had been heading in.

… **TBC**


	6. The Barrowboy & Banker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has sat 95% finished for about two weeks. I'm sorry but my dog had an allergic reaction and she had hives covering her entire body. We had to bring her to the vet; twice. She got better and then she relapsed. It has finally all cleared up. Still not exactly sure what caused it but hope it doesn't come back.

  **o0o0o0o**

It turned out to be 10.3 blocks from Lestrade's flat. They passed more than two dozen other pubs on the way but the man said they weren't as good as where they were heading to. Mycroft had always assumed all pubs were similar. When they could see Southwark Cathedral in the distance, he realized they were headed towards London bridge.

They finally came to a stop in front of a building.

"So what do you think?" Greg asked worriedly. It was the most upscale pub he knew of on this side of the river. He had come here only once before for a colleagues retirement party. Not expecting it to be so nice he came straight from work and felt immediately out of place. It had been full of suits on their way home from work.

Mycroft looked at the 19th-century building with interest. Like most of London buildings, it was old but this one was made of white sandstone, had large windows, and flower boxes lining the front. He didn't even have to read the name to know it used to be a bank. The Barrowboy and the Banker had potential. "It looks promising."

"Oh good. I thought you would like this better than a grimy pub," Greg said with relief. "We usually end up down at the Hung Drawn and Quartered after work."

"The one right across from the tower of London," Mycroft said with amusement.

"Exactly," Greg smiled as he held the door open for the other man.

When Mycroft stepped through the front door of the Barrow Boy and the Banker he was more than mildly impressed. It was quite a grand impressive looking space. You could see all the elements of the old opulence but the modern lighting brought a modernism to it.

It was a large open space with a gallery above the bar which had a grand staircase leading too it. There was a line of safe doors used as decoration on the outside of it; paying homage to the history of the building. The dark blue walls complimented the wood paneling.

The walls were covered in old art in nice frames as well as some portraits of random historical figures. There was a large mural of people in Victorian-era dress visiting a bank counter on the upper level.

"Posh enough for you?" Greg asked smugly at the man's speechlessness.

"Quite," Mycroft answered. He had a notion that Lestrade had made him walk all this way because he knew he wouldn't approve of the other establishments. It made him suspicious why the man would want to impress him so much.

Mycroft observed how everyone in the pub was wearing a suit of some sort. "Why have you taken me to this exact pub?" It did not appear to be a place the sergeant would ever frequent.

"I wanted you to feel comfortable," Greg replied with a shrug.

"You stick out like a sore thumb here." Mycroft pointed at Lestrade's old leather jacket and tatty jeans.

"But you fit right in. If we went anywhere else it would have been the other way around."Greg answered.

Mycroft had to admit that no one had taken a second look at him as he walked through the door. he usually got many a raised eyebrow.

There was a large crowd of men in suites around the main bar. Having been there before Greg knew the layout. He led them up to the Gallery which had its own bar. It was quieter up here since most of the patrons stayed on the main level because they just wanted to grab a drink on their way home from work.

It was a much more intimate setting on the top floor since it was more than half the size. The small number of tables were sparingly filled. They chose a square table in front of a line of four tall etched mirrors that was against the wall. Most of the other patrons chose to sit by the iron railing so that they could look down on the rest of the pub. The seats were aged leather and comfortable.

It didn't take long after they sat down for a barmaid to come over to take their orders. There were only ten tables up in the gallery so the service was a lot faster. "I'm buying the first round. We'll have two beers or whatever you have on tap."

It took minutes for the barmaid to return with two paints.

Mycroft sipped at his beer cautiously. He had never been one to drink much. Usually, it was all for show, he would pour himself a finger of whiskey just to fit in. Never actually drinking any of it because he wanted to be clear of mind to make the best decision.

Greg looked at the bureaucrat from across the table. He hadn't really gotten a chance to observe the other man before. Mycroft Holmes had pale skin with hawk-like features. He had brown hair with auburn roots which were strange since it was usually the other way around.

"You dye your hair." Greg found himself saying his observation out loud.

"Brunettes are taken more seriously," Mycroft answered with embarrassment. He found his hand touching the top of his head self consciously. It was time for a touch up it seemed.

It sounded to Greg like he had been teased about it in his youth."I like redheads," He found himself saying and then quickly took a sip of his beer. He found his face heating up because Greg realized he was flirting. This wasn't a date, he admonished himself.

Deciding to change the subject. "So how did you end up taking care of Sherlock?" Greg was expecting to hear a story of how both their parents had died and it was up to the elder sibling to take charge.

Instead, the other man let out a long-suffering sigh. "My mother fostered him off on to me so that she could take a job in the states."

"She just left you with him even knowing about the drug problem?" Greg asked in shock.

"She had basically washed her hands of it," Mycroft took a long drink of the beer. "Mummy expects me to set Sherlock straight for her."

"That isn't fair when it should be a parents responsibility," Greg confirmed the injustice. "How old are you?" Greg found himself slipping into the conversation.

"I just turned 24 a few weeks ago," Mycroft answered.

"I expected you to be older than that," Greg said and the man gave him a look. "You are wearing a three-piece suit."

"Fair enough." Mycroft brushed down the lapels on his suit jacket.

.

It appeared all it took was a few beers to get the bureaucrat to open up.

"I just don't think my mother understands how pressure I'm under at work. It usually requires all of my attention." Mycroft was complaining.

"And Sherlock is a lot of work on top of that," Greg said with understanding. This was why he had invited the man out. He could tell that Mycroft had needed someone to talk to.

.

Mycroft had ended up getting drunk on only a few beers. The bureaucrat apparently had no ability to hold his alcohol, and Greg found it adorable. A man that seemed so put together had such a human flaw.

"Come on, let's get a taxi." Greg supported Mycroft's weight as he helped the man down the steps. Maybe getting drunk in the gallery wasn't the best idea. He supported the bureaucrat weight as he flagged down a taxi. One stopped and he helped Mycroft into the backseat.

"Where are you going?" The taxi driver asked as he looked at his passengers in the rear view mirror.

"I'm not exactly sure yet," Greg made a hand motion for the man to wait a moment. "Mycroft, where do you live?" He received no answer, so Greg nudged the bureaucrat but Mycroft just mumbled and curled up against the door. It appeared that Mycroft had already fallen asleep.

Sighing, Greg reached into the bureaucrat's inner suit jacket for his cell phone. His finger hovered over the name Sherlock for a moment, but then he decided against it. If he brought Mycroft home drunk, Sherlock would never let his brother forget it.

"I guess we're going to my place," Greg told the taxi driver his address. Since the bureaucrat was too drunk to tell him where he lived, Greg figured it would be best if he just took him home with him for the night.

.0.

Greg helped the taller man into his apartment. Having to practically carry him over the threshold.

Deciding to take the couch for himself, since it had become lumpy in recent years. Mycroft was tucked into Greg's own bed. Trying to make the man more comfortable, he removed his jacket and shoes. There was something heavy in the suit jacket pocket. Since he had already removed Mycroft's cell phone and wallet, Greg wondered what it was.

Reaching inside, he surprisingly pulled out a small handgun. Greg wonders if he should be reporting Mycroft. What the hell did the man do for the government that required a gun? Deciding to just leave his question for the morning.

Being a police officer he knew how to disassemble a firearm properly. Unloading the gun, Greg took the ammo with him and put it on his bedside table. Guns were harmless without any ammunition.

o0o

Mycroft woke up in an unfamiliar bed with a pounding headache. It took a few moments for the previous evening to come back to him. This must be Lestrade's apartment.

Had he actually passed out on the way home? Embarrassed by his drunken behavior, Mycroft left the bedroom warily. Since it was only a one bedroom apartment it didn't take long for him to find Lestrade in the kitchen.

Like the rest of the apartment, it was small. There was only a counter against one wall with a small section sticking out that had two stools lined up against it.

"Aw, I see you're awake." Greg grinned as he saw the rumpled state of the bureaucrat. "Can I make anything for you? Bacon and eggs perhaps?" Greg asked with humor.

At the mention of food, Mycroft felt his stomach turn. "Just some coffee." He walked over and pulled out one of the island stools. Mycroft nodded in thanks once the policeman had poured him a coffee.

"So what exactly do you do for the government?" Greg asked as he placed the gun on the counter.

Mycroft just finished gulping his coffee. Pursing his lips he observed the man as if judging if he is trustworthy. "I have a license for that."

"Well I should hope so," Greg replied with a roll of his eyes. Leaning on the table with amusement. "I would hate to have to charge you with carrying an unregistered firearm."

"It all started in university," Mycroft spoke.

 

~ 1988

_Mycroft had just started Cambridge. He had skipped a few grades and had gotten early acceptance. Most of his other classmates were a few years older than him so they didn't want to interact with him. It was fine since Mycroft felt the same._

_He would rather hang out with his ten-year-old brother than most of his new schoolmates._

_Mycroft found himself spending a lot of his time in the library. It was on one of those trips that he was approached._

_He had been working on his thesis for ... It wasn't due till the end of term but Mycroft liked to stay ahead. Needing more information he had headed into the stacks when he had returned there had been an envelope left on his papers that hadn't been there before._

_Mycroft looked around suspiciously, but no one was looking in his direction. Approaching his work area he sat down in the chair and stared at the envelope more closely. It was thick and good quality. It had no address on it. Just had Mycroft's own name in cursive green ink, like it had been written with a feather quill._

_Since he had confirmed it was actually for him, Mycroft decided there should be no harm in opening it. Reaching into his carry bag, he retrieved a letter opener. He had always found it uncouth when people just used their fingers to rip a letter opener. Sliding the blade through the top to open the letter neatly._

_Mycroft furrowed his brow in confusion at the contents of the letter. It was very mysterious to be suddenly invited to meet with someone. It was like a secret club._

_..._

_Out of pure curiosity, Mycroft showed up at the allotted time. Stepping into the gentlemen's club, Mycroft was greeted by the host. Just as the letter had instructed Mycroft wordlessly handed him the coin._

_The host looked at the coin and closed his palm. "Follow me." He followed the man to the second story. He was led to a set of double doors. There was an intricate knock that seemed too practiced to be anything other than a code._

_Mycroft was sat across from two men in black suits._

_"Do you know who we are?" The blond asked as he scanned a file in front of him._

_"I have a suspicion." Mycroft steepled his fingers. "Judging by our location and your attire, I would guess MI5."_

_The two men looked impressed by his deduction. "Close, but we are actually from MI6."_

_"I've never heard of another branch." Mycroft furrowed his brow._

_"Exactly," The man smirked. "With all of the James Bond stuff, nothing was secret anymore. We were forced to start another branch."_

_"What do you want with me?" Mycroft leaned back in his chair and tried to hold himself the way his father usually would. He knew it made him appear years older than he actually was._

_"We like to enlist from the upper class," One man explained. "You have gained high esteem from all your professors."_

_"So you would like to recruit me," Mycroft confirmed. This was actually intriguing._

_"As long as you pass the training, yes."_

_"Training?" Mycroft questioned the word._

_"Of course, we want our agents to be the best, and know what they are doing. We have an academy in a secret location out in the countryside."_

_"Are you interested?"_

_"Yes," Mycroft answered._

_Sherlock would be so disappointed that Mycroft wouldn't be able to visit during his break. He could imagine his petulant pout already._

_~_

 

"That was probably the moment my brother and I's relationship started to splinter," Mycroft stated as he continued to sip at his coffee.

"You're telling me you're a secret service agent?" Greg asked with disbelief.

"Does that really surprise you?" Mycroft asked with a smirk.

Thinking about how the man was able to get his brother out of being charged with possession the day before. "No actually," Greg answered, it actually fit the man quite well.

"Aren't you not supposed to tell people? I mean, you hardly know me." Greg asked.

"Well, the secret service and the police work together all the time," Mycroft answered. "I can trust you can't I?"

"Yes, you can," Greg answered.

After Mycroft finished his coffee he slid off the stool and put his coat back on. "I have to be going now. I'll inform you when I manage to track down my brother."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Greg stared at the man's retreating back.

Mycroft turned around to see the police officer had his gun in his hand. With a blush, Mycroft went to retrieve it.

The door closed behind the mysterious man. Greg didn't know what he was getting himself into. Sherlock was one thing but his brother was something completely else.

**..TBC**


	7. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it has taken me so long to post this while it has been finished for a few weeks now. Just started a new job and this has been my first true day off. Finally had time to do the last edit. In apology, John finally comes into the story.

Surprisingly when Mycroft called his team to figure out where his brother had gone he was informed Sherlock was back at his house. Mycroft hardly had a foot through the door when he was confronted.

"Where have you been!" He looked up to see his brother was standing at the top of the staircase.

Mycroft couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

"You should except I've been here where I should be," Sherlock snorted with derision.

"I would've been too but I had to go look for my wayward brother," Mycroft replied with exasperation.

"Don't play the worried big brother. I hardly think you were out searching for me all night." Sherlock said coldly.

Mycroft hung his coat up in the closet before turning back to his brother. "Why did you come back to my house?" He asked curiously.

"I have nowhere else to go." Sherlock grudgingly admitted. He couldn't go back to Lestrade's place because it was the first place his brother would look.

"Then what was the point in running off when I went to pick you up from Lestrade's apartment?" Mycroft asked with annoyance.

"Just to annoy you," Sherlock answered with a smirk.

"Well, you have succeeded." Mycroft hissed.

"I'll repeat. Where have you been all night?" Sherlock asked even though Mycroft knew his brother could read it from his person. "You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and they are rumpled, meaning you slept in them."

Sherlock said as he walked down the stairs. When he got to the bottom Sherlock cocked his head.

"You…" Sherlock scurried forward and sniffed at his person. "… the smell of cheap ale! You don't drink alcohol because it clouds your mind."

Mycroft sighed. He felt like he was a teenager getting read the riot act.

"Who would you…You went to pick me up from Lestrade's…and went drinking together," There was a flash of realization on Sherlock's face. "you stayed on Lestrade's couch- no his bed. Lestrade's way to noble to make you sleep on his broken coach."

"Thank you for that lovely replay of my evening," Mycroft said as he walked by Sherlock towards the stairs. Mycroft needed a good shower and a clean suit before he went to work for the day.

o0o

When Mycroft came home from work a few days later he found the house empty again. He knew exactly where his brother was. For some reason, Sherlock had latched onto the detective. Lestrade would text him every time his brother would show up at New Scotland Yard. He had been constantly asking to help on cases.

Since Sherlock was out of the house Mycroft decided to take a risk and enter his room. He was sure it was a disaster zone in there and it would need a good cleaning. When Mycroft opened the door to see the piles of clothes and science equipment he sighed. He walked across the room to collect some dirty clothes and ended up kicking a folder. An image of a woman who was clearly dead from strangulation slid out. Mycroft was really worried for a second until he saw the folder with the property of New Scotland Yard stamp.

It appeared that Sherlock had a new obsession with murder.

He wasn't sure if it stemmed from his new association with Detective Lestrade or not. They did meet at a crime scene that his brother had broken into.

Sherlock had always been fascinated by puzzles and problems.

What was a harder puzzle than piecing the evidence together to figure out who did it out of thousands of possible suspects?

Mycroft missed the days when Sherlock wanted to become a pirate.

With a sigh, Mycroft collected all the files into a pile and called his driver to meet him because he had to run a small errand.

…

When Greg looked up and saw Mycroft standing in the doorway at the station, he immediately asked, "Did Sherlock get arrested again?"

"Fortunately not," Mycroft walked across the office towards him. "I just came to return this." He threw folders onto the police officers desk. "Sherlock must have nicked these from you last time he was in here."

"I gave them to him actually," Greg admitted with a blush.

"You gave Sherlock, a seventeen-year-old; old murder files?" Mycroft asked surprised.

"Well, Sherlock isn't any teenager. I only gave him closed unsolved cases. Where there is no longer a crime scene and only picture evidence," Greg started to explain his reasoning. "I figured it would be better if I gave him something to keep the kid busy so that he doesn't go poking his nose into any of the open cases."

Mycroft just raised an eyebrow in response.

"I guess I should have asked you first," Greg admitted his mistake. "Sometimes I forget the kid is a minor and should have his guardian's permission."

"It's alright. Sherlock would never ask my permission to do anything anyway," Mycroft sat down in the guest chair. "Just keep supplying him with them."

"Really?" Greg asked with surprise.

"Yes, anything to keep my brother's mind busy that would keep him out of trouble." Mycroft stood up and headed towards the door.

"Mycroft?" Greg called after the young bureaucrat. "Take these with you"

Mycroft accepted the files because he knew there would be hell to pay if he returned without them.

Greg cursed when he saw the black umbrella still leaning against the chair. He checked his watch to see if it wasn't too soon to skip out on work. Sherlock had him drop him off one evening so he knew their address.

He grabbed his leather jacket and locked the office door behind him.

…

When Mycroft got back home he could hear Sherlock having a tantrum upstairs. "Where are they?!" He could hear being yelled.

With a sigh, Mycroft slammed the door to announce his presence. He hid the files in the inner panel of his suit to be out of sight.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled as he ran from his room and to the stairs. Stomping on each step on the way down. "What did you do with them?"

"Do with what?" Mycroft asked as if he didn't know what his brother was talking about.

"The files of course!" Sherlock stomped over to stand nose to nose with him.

Mycroft frowned when he realized his younger brother was almost as tall as him at the age of seventeen and he would keep growing. "Files on what?"

"Don't pretend to have a lower I.Q. than you already have," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You mean these," Mycroft pulled the files out of his jacket. Immediately Sherlock tried to snatch them but Mycroft held them out of his reach. He was going to enjoy having the superior height for now.

"Give them back!" Sherlock demanded and jumped to try a snatch the files from his brother's grip.

Suddenly the front door opened and Lestrade walked in.

In the surprise, Mycroft ended up losing his grip on the folders. All the sheets fell to the ground. Mixing all the evidence of different cases together.

"You fool!" Sherlock cried in despair as he dropped to his knees to collect the ruined folders.

"What are you doing here?" Mycroft asked. Embarrassed about being found in such an undignified position.

"I just came to return this," Greg held up the black umbrella.

Mycroft blushed since he had not even realized he had left the brolly behind.

"Was knocking on the door but it didn't seem like either of you could hear me," Greg smirked in amusement at their childish behavior.

"This isn't…" Mycroft stuttered.

"What, two siblings playing a game of keep away?" Greg said with amusement and the man flushed in embarrassment. He walked over to assist Sherlock. "Expect these to be returned in the right order." Greg leaned down to help pick up the contents. "Hey, I never gave you the Carson file." He glared at the teenager.

Sherlock snatched the folder from his hand and collected all the other folder contents in his arms before running back upstairs to his room. They could hear the slam of his bedroom door and then the lock clicking in place.

"I'm always right about something," Mycroft said to himself.

"What?" Greg looked at the politician in confusion.

"That Sherlock snatched one of those folders while you weren't looking," Mycroft expanded.

"I guess I better get going." Greg gestured to the front door.

"I'll escort you out." Mycroft offered.

"You don't have to." Greg opened the door and walked over to his bike.

"You ride a motorcycle?" Mycroft said with surprise.

"Yeh. I couldn't afford a car on my past salary and it is easier to find parking." Greg replied with a shrug.

"You say past?" Mycroft caught the past tense of the explanation.

"Well, now that I'm a detective in training it comes with a large pay increase but I've just gotten used to riding my bike around the busy London streets," Greg explained with a shrug. "I'm also at work so much it doesn't make sense to have such a great expense I'll hardly use."

"You also have use of the vehicle at work," Mycroft could see why the man may choose a different mode of transportation.

"Exactly," Greg then put his helmet on. He straddled the bike and then started the engine. Nodding once more at the bureaucrat, he took off out of the gravel driveway.

…

The doorbell rang, Mycroft put down his tea and went to answer it. He wondered who it could be at this time at night.

"Greg, what are you doing here?" Mycroft asked as he wrapped his bathrobe tighter around his person.

"You know how you told me to contact you first..." Greg shrugged. "He's out in the police cruiser."

Mycroft sighed and turned to hit his head against the wall. With a sigh, he stood up straight and ran his fingers through his hair. Pulling himself together seamlessly.

Greg raised his eyebrows. It was hard to even tell the man had just been bashing his head into a wall.

"Lead the way," Mycroft stood up straighter. He had not even realized that Sherlock had slipped out without his notice. "Was it drugs again?" Mycroft asked worriedly as they approached the Panda. His brother had been clean for over a month and he would hate if Sherlock broke that streak.

"Luckily not," Greg gave him a reassuring smile. "Sherlock broke into a crime scene he had followed me to."

For some reason that made Mycroft really relieved. "That isn't so surprising."

"Don't worry. I didn't press any charges against him," Greg reassured. "I mostly just put him in the back of the cruiser to think about what he did."

Lestrade opened the back door and Sherlock emerged like he had done nothing wrong. Staring him straight in the eyes.

"I have half a mind to put bars on your window," Mycroft said with exasperation.

**o0o**

Greg was at the most recent crime scene and they were making sure it was completely clear. A husband had come home to his wife with her throat slashed.

He opened the kitchen pantry, grabbing his chest when Greg realized someone was in there. He narrowed his eyes when he realized who it was. He would recognize that curly hair anywhere. "Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here?" Greg hissed under his breath

The teen just gave an innocent smile.

"Have you learned nothing? It's dangerous for you to be here." Greg berated as he looked around to make sure none of his other colleges were in earshot.

"Why can't I help? I'm better than more than half the force." Sherlock whined.

"When you go through four years of the Police Academy, then you can help on active crime scenes," Greg snapped as he dragged the teen out of the pantry.

"Boring," Sherlock replied to his answer.

Suddenly a man in a dark hoodie bolted from the upstairs bathroom and ran down the stairs.

Sherlock was after him like a shot. "I got him!" He cried as he ran after the suspect.

"Sherlock no!" Greg tried to grab the teen by the back of his jacket but he was too fast.

The two figures disappeared one after the other out the front door. He bolted after the two figures. Greg was in great shape because he went to the gym often but he was no match for the teens long legs. He could see that Sherlock was gaining on the suspect ahead.

When Sherlock got close enough he threw his body at the suspect. Knocking the other man to the ground. The two struggle on the sidewalk for a time then Sherlock froze and tumbled off the suspect. The man in the hoodie scrambled to his feet and took off.

"You idiot," Greg stood panting when he finally caught up with the teen.

"He got away," Sherlock mumbled like he was in disbelief that he had failed.

"It happens," Greg said and then offered his hand to help the teen up. When Sherlock took no notice and clutched at his stomach he realized something was wrong. "Are you ok?" He figures the man must have punched the teen. Sherlock removed his hand and it was covered in a dark substance. It was dark but Greg already knew in his gut what it was.

"Sherlock!" Greg immediately kneeled down to get a better look. When he saw the growing dark spot, Greg felt his heart skip a beat. Sherlock had gotten himself stabbed. "Fuck!"

The teen's eyes started to flutter closed.

"Stay with me!" Greg had started to panic a little. All his training flew out of his brain. The lights of a panda caught his eye. Greg quickly sprinted out into the street. The police cruiser screeched to a halt.

Officer Miller came out of the door. "Lestrade! Are you injured?" He asked since he saw the blood on his hands.

"Not me," Greg was sure that he looked a state. " A civilian has been injured."

"I'll call an ambulance." Officer Miller volunteered. He took out his walkie-talkie and started to call for an ambulance.

"There isn't any time!" Greg yelled, he ran over and opened up the back door to the panda. He gathered Sherlock in his arms and placed him in the back seat. He pushed Miller out of the way so that he could climb into the driver's seat. Greg put the panda in drive with the sirens blaring.

Leaving Miller opened mouth on the sidewalk beside a pool of blood.

**.0.**

Greg rushed to the A and E with Sherlock unconscious in the back. If Mycroft found out about this he was dead.

The hospital staff took the teen off his hands when they arrived. They asked him if Greg could fill out some paperwork. Greg had to inform them he was neither a family member nor a guardian. They took him to the nurses' station so that he could tell some personal information for their patient.

They rushed Sherlock into the operating room. Greg just prayed that the knife didn't hit anything vital. For hours he sat in the waiting room for any word.

A doctor came out to inform him Sherlock was out of surgery and would make a full recovery.

When Greg pushed the curtain back on the bed he was informed Sherlock was assigned only to see Mycroft sitting calmly in one of the waiting chairs he felt his heart skip a beat. "I can explain."

"No need. I know my brother is most likely at fault," Mycroft stood to rearrange the blanket on his brother's bed.. "If he's going to be helping out with your cases I will need to make you a guardian."

o0o

When Sherlock opened his eyes he discovered a white ceiling. He could feel that someone was touching him so he ripped his arm away and held it close to his chest. With suspicious eyes, he saw the culprit was a young man with dirty blond hair and blue eyes.

The man had a calm look in his eyes as he observed the patient who was now awake. At first glance, you would think he was a nurse because of the plain blue scrubs. He had been rapping gauze around Sherlock's forearm where he had scaped it in the scuffle.

"Doctor Watson," Sherlock exclaimed to break the stalemate. After a quick glance at the name tag that simply had J.H. Watson with no title.

"What makes you think I'm not a nurse?" Watson asked with curiosity.

"Judging by your age, you're in training to become a doctor. By your strong physic and haircut, that tells me that your schooling is being paid for by the army, since your family did not have the money to pay for it themselves, requiring four years of active service at the minimum. Therefore, you strive to become an army doctor." Sherlock ended with a pop on the last word.

"What else could you tell me about myself?" Watson exclaimed like he actually meant it.

"Judging the initial J on your nametag, calculating all the prominent J names in Britain, I would say your name is John." Sherlock deduced quickly.

"What if I told you my name is Jeff?" Watson replied with narrowed eyes.

"No, John," Sherlock replied with confidence.

"That was amazing." John smiled brightly.

"That's not what people usually say," Sherlock said with perplexity.

What do they usually say?" John asked.

"Piss off," The young doctor laughed at Sherlock's answer but not in a mean way. puzzlement

"Do you want to get a coffee when you're discharged?" John asked. He knew it was frowned upon to date any of the patients but the boy was too intriguing to let him pass up this chance.

Sherlock stared at the trainee doctor in shock. Usually, people found him deducing them annoying.

"I would appreciate it if you would stop hitting on my little brother unless you wish to be hit with a lawsuit," Mycroft exclaimed as he pushed the curtain aside. He'd heard the whole conversation as he had been approaching.

The trainee doctor looked at him with confusion until it hit him what the man in a suit actually meant. Looking down at the chart at the end of the bed, you could clearly see the blue eyes blanch at what he read. "You're seventeen!"

At the shocked exclamation, Sherlock shrugged. "Age is just a number."

With mortification at being caught placing the moves on someone not even out of high school yet, John scrambled from the room.

"I think you just traumatized the poor man," Greg commented as the blond disappeared into the break room.

"He should stick to nurses and men his own age." Mycroft could read how many bed partners the young man had recently. He wasn't one to stick with one partner for too long.

"Wait, women. Wasn't that doctor just hitting on your brother." Greg looked at the clearly male patient. There was nothing about Sherlock that was feminine in any way.

"It's called being bi-sexual," Sherlock exclaimed as he picked up his own chart that John had dropped. Flipping through the information. "You should know."

Greg hunched his shoulders. He gave signals around the station so that everyone would perceive him as a straight man. When really he dated both men and women. Working as a Police officer was a harsh environment when dealing with homophobia. "I don't know what you mean." He hissed defensively.

The little shit stayed quite but kept shooting meaningful looks at his older brother.

… **TBC**


End file.
